


In which two lowbloods make unlikely friends and give tyrannical authority the middle finger

by Unpronounceable



Category: Homestuck
Genre: Ancestor/Descendant relationships, Descendants living with their Ancestors, Do I post this? I don't even know, Like seriously no one understands this ship it's hard, M/M, Pale Romance | Moirallegiance, crackship, everyone is alive at the same time, lots of non-sexual relationships, this fic will possibly be cancelled I don't know yet
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2013-10-27
Updated: 2013-11-24
Packaged: 2017-12-30 16:13:50
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 3
Words: 6,967
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1020750
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Unpronounceable/pseuds/Unpronounceable
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Includes two rebels with a mutual distaste for highbloods, parental feelings, pale flirting bordering on pornographic and a jailbreak including a dragon.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

On Alternia, there is an incredible amount of things to fear. You've got your culling drones, the bucket drones, the bucket ritual in and of itself, the higher bloods who will sometimes feel like breaking your legs then telling you to run away if you don't want to die. You have the Empress and her lackies, the feared Orphaner and the terrorizing Highblood, and the variation of monsters that won't even bother eating you because they're just that freakishly huge and dangerous.  
Of course, if you live on Alternia, those thing start to become mundane and self-explanatory, and eventually you stop questioning the insignificance of your life; if your blood isn't blue or higher, that is.  
There are a few individuals who still like to raise questions such as why. You happen to be such an individual.

Your name is Rufioh, but your title is the Summoner. You like your title, because it conveys that you have an awesome power that the highbloods would give an arm and a leg for. Or, they'd cut of your arm and leg and then more until you gave it to them, but mind powers don't work like that. Plus, if they tried, you'd just summon a dragon on their pasty wastechutes.  
You're just about ten sweeps now, at the highpoint of your life and determined to spend what you have left of it actively antagonizing the oppressors of your kind, just like you've spent your time thus far.  
In case someone might be confused, it should be made clear that you do not like highbloods. You detest them, in fact, and for good reason.  
What reason?  
Clearly you're not from around here.

 

* * *

 

You wake up on top of your hive.  
This is by no means an unusual occurrence, since you often sit up there to talk to the various fauna in your spare time, like the tinkerbulls and the crows and the butterbirds, and if you can't be bothered to make your way to your coon, you just doze off on the roof.  
The nightmares no longer terrify you, as long as you wake up to the sounds of the forest and the soft, ever-present sense of its inhabitants.  
Animals are of no threat to you, and you're not afraid of the highbloods so much as you're tired of them.  
Kicking their asses has that effect on a guy. 

The sun doesn't reach you through the thick blanket of leaves overhead, so you're in no danger of becoming a charred corpse while napping. Your hive is pretty damn great, to be honest.  
You don't really have a specific schedule to take care of, so you just lie on your back for a little while, looking at the treetops and the small rays of sun the shine through it.  
From the looks of it you'd say the sun was already up fairly high.  
Soon you'll have to get inside, leaf protection or not, because it'll get unbearably hot for you in the thick forest.  
Various insects flit about, and a dragonfly perches on your nose. You wrinkle it and chuckle when the fly rushes into the air, offended.  
You hear some noise coming from inside your hive, and immediately you sit up, making your way to the edge of the roof.  
From the sounds of it, Tavros is awake, and you should probably remind him that it's far past his coon time. You have rules in this household, after all; not a lot, and not strict ones, but they're still rules and you want to see what's up with the kid anyway.  
Without a moment of hesitation, you let yourself fall off the edge, watching the trees go over and behind your head as you turn in the air, wings catching you before you so much as feel a tingle in your protein sack.  
For a moment, you revel in the awesomeness of having these kickass wings, before you fly over to the balcony to check up on your little man.

When you slink in, silent aside from the bonk of your horns hitting the door frame and the hushed groan that follows because you can never see the god damn wall coming as a Nitram rule, you see Tavros tip-toeing towards his room, clutching something in his hands.  
You don't even need three guesses to know what it is, and one glance on top of the shelf confirms that the big, thick adventure book that's heavy enough to knock out an adult troll is missing from its honorary position.  
Sneaking still, you creep up to Tavros, wings stretched out for better balance.  
You love the kid to death, you do, but you can't resist teaching him a lesson like this.  
When you're just about an arm's reach from him, you roar and lift him up by the armpits, making him shriek and drop the book. He flails and tries to turn around in his panic, causing his horn to slam into your nose so you drop him and he trips over his own feet, landing on the side.

Both of you are lost in your own world for a moment, Tavros trying to get his bloodpusher speed in check and you seeing if your nose is broken.  
Tavros is the first to talk, or rather yell mildly, while he clambers up to his feet.

"Oh my god, you asshole, why would you do that?!"

He looks at you accusingly, as if he wasn't the one to brutally assault your face. It's always the kind-of-quiet ones.

"You were sneaking out of your coon, Tavros. We talked about the sneaky book reading. You see the sun out there? I'm fairly sure that sun is saying it's daytime and you should be mumbling in your sleep."

Honestly, it's not that big of a deal, but you're irritable and mildly flustered about your failed scare attempt so you let him hear it anyway.  
Tavros looks appropriately abashed, looking away and crossing his arms.

"Don't mumble in my sleep," he mumbles, but not in his sleep.

You sigh loudly before sitting down on the floor, crossing your legs and putting your elbow on your thigh.  
"Okay, Pupa, what is it. And spare me the rebellious pupation stage monologue, I know you don't sneak out for no reason."  
  
Tavros mimics your sigh, pretty well in fact, but drops his arms from their crossed position and lets them drop to his lap.  
You know what's coming before he opens his mouth, but you let him keep his own pace.

"How come I don't have wings yet?"  
"Tavros, we've been over this-"  
"Yeah, and you always give me the same answer, which also isn't really an answer, because it doesn't answer anything!"  
  
Cursing the woes of being a guardian for the umpteenth time, you close your eyes until you can tell he's calmed down.  
  
"Tavros, I keep telling you, your wings come when they come. Seething about them isn't going to make them grow any faster."  
"But, what if they don't come, at all? And I never get to fly and stuff, like you?"  
  
Tavros's worries are, in fact, a possibility.  
You've had your wings since pupation, although you weren't exactly as elevated about the idea as Tavros.  
The fact that he didn't pupate with them makes for a very big chance that he won't have them at all, and your mutation didn't transfer onto him.  
But he was so excited for his wings as a wriggler, you can't throw the disappointment in his face, although you have a feeling he already knows.

"I guess I'll just have to carry you, then. And you'll never have to grow up and I get to fling you around like a wriggler some more."  
You try to lighten the mood, aware that Tavros should be asleep and you shouldn't be dilly-dallying.  
Tavros huffs, but it does sound a little like a concealed laughter and you feel a bit better about your guardian skills.

"Wow, no way, I'm way too big and mature for that now."  
"Bet you won't be saying that next time I'm going out."  
  
The hint of a smile at the thought of taking a flight plays on your kid's lips, but it quickly turns into open-mouthed wonder as he looks over your shoulder, and a second later your lusus is nudging the side of your head urgently.  
You lean away from the insistent wet nose, palming tinkerbull away.  
  
"Easy, lil' fella, what's going on?" you laugh awkwardly, but the little bull continues gently pushing you up so you comply, rising to your feet and following it to where it's anxiously hovering up and down.  
It leads you to one of the windows, and at first you think another creature is bullying it or an animal needs help, but peering through your window you see some definitely not white figures in the distance.  
They look like very big rocks, at first, but when you see how they move, all your sense go on alert and your wings stiffen up.  
Out there are drones, at least two, and they're zoning in on your hive fast.  
It's Culling day.

Culling day is the one day every few sweeps where multicoloured blood runs along the surface of Alternia, as opposed to just rust coloured.  
It's in memory of the day when her glorious and most honourable Condescension created a new law, that every disabled, mutated, sick or otherwise weak troll was to be killed, with no exception to bloodcolour.  
Even seadwellers with busted gills flee when the drones approach, and most don't get very far.  
The most difficult part to deal with is that the day is random. They're usually two or three sweeps apart, but it can be any day, and the only warning you get is the drone's foot before it crushes you or demolishes your hive with you inside it.  
You've managed to survive the past sweeps thanks to the miracle of having both wings and animal packs to aid you and warn you before it's too late, but today is just not your day, it seems.  
You've received no warnings, and you have a descendant to look after.  
This is not good.  
They're almost here; you could run, fly away and stay with the dragons for a while, but you'd have to leave Tavros behind.  
And if anyone even entertained that notion, the same can just get the hell out, because it's not happening.  
You take a moment to stare at nothing, Tavros hesitantly pulling at your shirt and Tinkerbull frantically zipping around you.  
There is not a doubt in your mind that you have to get Tavros to safety, that's your primary objective. He may not have any specific disadvantages, but he's low and he's weak, physically at least, and he'll be killed in a matter of seconds if they get to him.  
  
And all at once, you know what you have to do.

"Tavros, basement, right now."

Your charge looks at you quizzically but you don't have any time to take it easy on him, so you crouch to be at his level and prepare to break his heart.  
  
"Listen, Tavros, I need you to take the tunnels out. I'll do what I can but you need to be strong too, okay? Stay with the ramaroos and stay hidden. Don't stop or turn back, no matter what you hear. Tink, lead him out."  
  
You nod to your lusus and stride over to your room to grab your trusty lance, and Tavros trails behind you, unsurprisingly.  
  
"What, but, no, they'll catch us! They're too fast, and too close, and they'll probably smell us, or find us in some other way, and I don't- I can't fly, and you can't carry me, that far-"  
"You weren't listening. It won't be 'us', just you."  
  
You're ready for this, you're simple and bullheaded and you have your little wriggler to protect, but Tavros isn't ready and he just stares at you with the most bloodpusher-crushing expression, and you can't help one last show of sentimentality to your sweet, precious little guy.  
  
Without looking at him, because you don't think you could take it, you ruffle his little mohawk and kiss his little forehead, and by some sheer luck your voice is steady and normal when you tell him you'll find him.  
"I'll come back for you, Pupa. I promise."  
  
But you won't, most likely, not after this.  
  
And then you're out the window.

  
Your trust in Tinkerbull and your conviction that Tavros is good at staying alive is what comforts you while you fly over the drones, right in front of their faces, to catch their attention.  
A stab near what you assume is some kind of eye, a kick in one of the spikea, and their attention is caught.  
He'll be okay, he's a good kid.  
The stupid and dangerous, stupidly dangerous creatures set their sights on your and their mutant senses to haywire, and you fly for your life in the opposite direction of your hive.  
You know there's nothing for you there, the woods only get thicker in that direction, but it'll lead them away from the tunnels Tavros his hopefully maneuvering through at this moment.  
The gigantic killing machines are right behind you, but you're Alternia's best and only winged troll and you live damn well up to the title.  
  
You really hope they're not crushing too many woodland creatures under their massive spiked feet, but you squeeze the thought to the back of your mind as you dodge a swipe with your lance that would have otherwise squashed you against a tree.  
It sends you catapulting in the air, and for a moment you're certain you'll get stepped on before instincts kick in and you're back on track.  
You try to reach out to some animals for help, figuring maybe a tiger or something could slow them down a bit, but everything has either fled or is too terrified to be controlled.  
  
You're pretty far from the hive now, far enough so that Tavros should be out and on some animal's back, riding to safety.  
Maybe you can make it.  
There has to be a clearing where you can fly upwards, and the drones are big but they'd lose you in the clouds, if you just found a hole in the endless thick of leaves and branches, you could actually own up to what you said to him-  
  
Just as the thought surges through your mind, a tree massacred by a drone's stride falls in front of you and makes you stop for long enough for a gigantic, rock-hard hand to enclose around you and squeeze.  
You're pretty sure you scream, you're not sure since your wings are being bent at all the wrong angles and the deafening buzzing of the drones and the crack of the nature they stomp down drowns you out.  
This is it, you figure.  
What a lame way to die; they're going to ruin your good looks and it'll be a shame for all of trollkind.  
And then you think, holy shit you really do not want to die.

The adrenaline is still pumping through your veins and in addition to the pain, it makes everything hazy and crystal clear at the same time, but you think clearly enough to notice you're not dead.  
The drones, surprisingly intelligent, apparently don't think you should be pulverized yet.  
  
Somehow, this doesn't strike you as a good thing.  
With that thought in mind, and your wings still being treated like paper, you're taken somewhere in the hand of a drone while behind you, you hear the other drone wreck your hive. Your perfect, great hive that you spent so long making safe.  
  
You pray to whatever holy that Tavros wasn't stupid and reckless and simple-mindedly loving enough to try to come for you.


	2. Chapter 2

You sometimes regret being as stubborn and defying as you are.  
Not so much because of your behaviour, being stubborn and defying is what kept you alive when the world was trying to ground you into the mud.   
No, you regret it more because every ounce of snark and pissiness and stupid sacrificial complex was transferred into your descendant, and he lets you know at the most inopportune moments.

Your name is Mituna, but for a long, long time you went by the title Psiioniic.   
Yes, it is kind of a stupid title, but it's yours.   
  
You didn't think you'd ever live long enough or be important enough to need a title, but then this small and infuriatingly compassionate mutant assured you that you deserved one and all you had to your name was your psionic abilities.   
But that was a long time ago, and the memories aren't terribly fond.   
They keep you awake at day sometimes, even through the haze of sopor.   
  
Today is one of those days.  
  
You wake up feeling like you're drowning and panic tears at your bloodpusher, but you quickly realize that it's just the sopor slowing your breathing.   
You force yourself to rise up slowly, your mind scolding you for still acting like such a wriggler when you should clearly be a more successful and composed adult, and breathe deeply.   
You try to recall what it was in the dream that woke you, because you like to pick at scabbed wounds like that, but none of it makes sense.   
Rubbing your head, you decide not to think about it too much as of right now, and listen instead to the dead silence outside.   
Not so much as a cricket makes itself heard.  
Something isn't right.  
  
Your insides do the thing where they become solid, and your eyes sting from psionics trying to escape.   
  
This feeling of something definitely being wrong is something you and Sollux and probably any poor Captor in the future will have, and it never bodes well.   
  
The silence is shattered by Sollux calling your name.  
You're up in a matter of seconds, aware that you fell asleep in your bodysuit again and that you're kind of a mess, but you disregard it as something you really don't care about and storm into Sollux's room.   
He's standing by the wall, slime dripping from his unstyled hair which means it will curl up later and he'll get all ornery, and he has a pen in his hand.   
The wall in front of him is covered in red letters, smudged and hurried writing made by a shaking, unfocused hand.  
  
This happens when Sollux has visions. He's not as powerful as you are, but his prophetic sense rears its head more frequently and he's trained himself to write it down while it happens, even when he's still asleep.  
He's such a clever kid, really.   
  
He also doesn't appreciate you standing there and gawking, so he hisses his nickname for you again and you finally take note of how scared he looks.   
You give a little red and blue spark to light up the wall, and the words that stare back at you make your throat close up.   
  
"We need to go."  
  
You rush back out into the living space and Sollux follows you, wearing sticky daytime clothes.   
You hastily find a few blankets to cover yourselves from the sun, throwing two at Sollux who catches them with his face.   
  
"Sollux, I need you to fly east as fast as you can. The drones won't approach that area for the longest time and you might be able to hide if you're fast enough."  
  
Having freed his head from the tangle of blankets, Sollux shoots you a look unhidden by his glasses which basically translates to stop-fucking-around.  
  
"You mean _we_ need to fly east."  
  
You swallow and put on a well-worn cloak, courtesy of your old seamstress friend and lusus-figure, not looking at him.  
  
"They're coming from the west, right?" you ask him instead.  
  
"Yes, but what-"  
  
"They'll be at the Vantas hive soon."  
  
Sollux stops trying to protest, a true miracle, as realization dawns on him.  
  
"Oh shit, KK."  
  
You only nod and try to push him to the door.  
He evades you skillfully and whirls on you, eyes glowing.  
  
"Hell no, I'm coming with you! If you think you can pull another insanely dangerous stunt and push me to the side, guess again, bulgesucker."  
  
Being around the younger Vantas has really had an effect on Sollux's vocabulary, hasn't it?   
  
"Sollux, I can't let you get hurt-"  
  
"I don't care, I'm not leaving."  
  
You sigh loudly at your stupid boy and his dumb loyalty complex.   
You think you finally understand what your friends mean when they say how annoying your readiness to put yourself in danger is.   
It's even more annoying when you understand the reason completely.  
  
You don't have time for this, however, and so a sneaky and horrible plan sets in your mind.   
It's not kind and it's not decent, but desperate times call for desperate measures, and life had taught you to fight dirty.  
  
Sollux is still gauging your reaction, waiting for the inevitable disapproval, but instead you step closer and hug him.  
  
He goes stiff in your arms, the Captor way to react to affection, and you let yourself be genuinely emotional this one time.  
  
"Sollux, you're a really good troll, I don't care what you think yourself. I'm…I'm proud of you, and I hope I did a good enough job of taking care of you. I'm sorry."  
  
And you are, you really are.   
You wanted to do better by him, you would have wanted him to be happy and safe all the time, but as much as you and Signless, Disciple and Dolorosa tried, the world was still a wretched place and you still couldn't protect Sollux forever.   
In order to keep him safe, you need to do this one last thing, and you know he won't understand until later and it will hurt him but it'll keep him safe, at least.  
He figures out what you're doing a second too late, and with a snap of your fingers he goes limp in your ready arms.   
You hold him bridal style with slight difficulty, the kid is skinnier than can be healthy but so are you, cover him as well as you can, and then you take off into the sunlight.  
  
A long time ago, when you were younger and were unexpectedly given purpose in life by a stranger, you swore to yourself you'd protect that stranger with your life.   
No matter what the circumstances, even if you had a wriggler now, you would not let anything happen to Kankri Vantas or his family, not if you could help it.   
And you intend to make good on your oath.

When you arrive at the badly structured Vantas hive, you're tired but nowhere near exhausted.   
You're the most powerful mage of Alternia, it's okay, you can take it.  
It's unbearably hot even under your cloak and you're certain you and Sollux will both have at least a little sunburn, but that's the least of your worries.   
You knock on their door out of courtesy, but blast it open just a second later.   
They weren't going to answer, anyway, not quickly enough for your taste.  
You hurry inside and worship the blessed shade from the sun, taking off your hood to make sure you weren't accidentally attacked by a paranoid Karkat.   
Sure enough, you hear a small noise and there he is, sickle in his and mouth gaping.   
Kankri is right behind him, equally as dumbfounded, and he squeaks 'Mituna?' at the same time Karkat growls your descendant's name and hurries over.  
  
"What the fuck, is he okay?"   
  
You pull off the cloak as the small replica of your best friend examines Sollux, and he makes an indignant noise as he's ignored.  
  
"Kankri, take him."  
  
Dumbfounded and stuttering, the older Vantas accepts the limp form and the cloak you dump on him, and you float his own cloak over to him as well as Karkat's smaller one.  
  
"Mituna, what's this about? If Sollux is hurt, we should rather get him to a hospital, or perhaps the Maryams-"  
  
"We don't have time," you hiss, shoving Kankri and Karkat towards the back door.   
  
He begins to talk again, and you know how hard it is to stop him when he starts, so you cut him off before he begins.   
  
"It's culling day, Sollux saw it. You need to take Karkat and get out of here, they're going to be on you any second now."  
  
You can almost feel the fear settling on their shoulders, and just in time the vague buzzing of the drones could be heard in the distance.   
You force yourself not to react and push them more insistently towards the door.  
  
"I can hold them off for some time, but you need to make it out of the desert or you'll be spotted. I don't need to tell you to find Meulin, she can hide you, just- fucking go before-"  
  
Kankri takes your arm and squeezes it.   
  
"I'm not letting you act as bait, Mituna, stop it."  
  
You can't let him stop you, not even when he does _the voice_ that had hundreds of trolls hanging on his every word a few sweeps back.  
  
"Kankri, listen to me."  
  
You take a deep breath and look him in the eyes. It hurts, because they're so concerned and warm and you will never feel like you deserve the caring directed at you, but right now you need to think clearly so you do.  
Emotional detachment is something you've always been pretty good at.  
  
"That utopia you were always dreaming about? I don't think it can ever be reality. I don't think I ever did, this whole free world business, I don't believe in it."  
  
He looks crestfallen and confused, but you keep going.  
  
"But I do believe in you. If anyone can change things, it's you. This world needs you if it's ever going to get better."  
  
You open the door with your mind while he's still shell-shocked.   
  
"Please take care of Sollux for me," you say in a choked voice, and then you throw him out the door into the soft desert sand and lock the door.   
He'll be alright, he's sturdy and has taken worse blows from you.  
  
You know Kankri, you know how much love he has for the world and his family and you know he'd never, ever leave you behind.   
But you also know he'd never, ever let anything harm Karkat or Sollux, and you hope his natural instinct of protecting the young is strong enough to make him run while you buy him time.  
  
On cue, the horrible scream of a drone assaults your auricular sponges and you turn around to see a drone by the hole you blasted in the door earlier.  
  
It tears away the wall, and you respond by blasting half of its head off. You're not called The Ψiioniic for nothing.  
  
Another drone flies away, presumably to get backup, while another one takes the place of the stunned, half-headed one.  
You think you might hear Kankri calling your name and pounding the door, but there's too much noise to be sure.   
Karkat is a survivalist, having had Kankri's share of anger, paranoia and insomnia bestowed upon him after pupating, and eventually he'll pull his stupid predecessor away by the ear and be smart enough to get them all to run.  
  
You really, really hope they make it.  
  
Preparing yourself for battle, you wish them luck with your mind.   
You trust Kankri with your life, you can trust him with Sollux's.  
  
You ponder over how you won't get to see him grow up properly, get full control over his psionics and find quadrantmates and hopefully live a life better than you got to, and how you'll never let Kankri make the world seem so much less awful and see him smile in spite of everything that's happened, and you let the anger and melancholy power up your psionics as they tear into another drone.

 


	3. Chapter 3

You once saw a forest cat with its tail ripped off; the poor thing was half-crawling through the underground, stumbling and leaning to here and there.   
You took care of it until it got used to not having its sense of balance.   
You think this also happens when someone's auricular sponges get blown out?   
  
Doesn't really matter, the point is your wings were in bad shape and you really weren't dealing with it very well because it felt like you were falling over all the time.  
  
Good thing you didn't really need to do a lot of running, since you were chained up in some truck or carriage or something.   
  
The links tying your wrists to the wall are uncomfortably few, making the chain short and your hand movement range next to none.   
They threw you in here after the drones brought you to what was probably the commanding center for the holiday, a bunch of highbloods in vehicles giving orders and drones standing around waiting to be released.   
They totally ignored you when you asked them questions, and when you yelled at them, and even when you told them what they could go to with their deprived, withered bulges.   
So rude.

  
You still weren't sure why they didn't just kill your mutated self and get on with it, but you didn't think about it for very long.   
After you'd been thrown into this thing and tied up good, you mostly started worrying about making yourself comfortable.   
This space was so not big enough for someone with your rack.   
  
The truck's been moving for a while, stopping every now and then but no one ever opens the door you tumbled in through.   
  
Just as you're contemplating on just going to sleep and escaping to dreamland for a while, there's some commotion outside.   
You hear voices, obviously the highbloods since there's no screaming and therefore no lowblood that's dared to approach, and a lot of screeching drones.   
  
You feel like you might smell fire or something, but maybe it's just your imagination.  
  
Eventually, the double doors do open, and you're momentarily blinded.   
The sun's not quite as strong now, but it's still hot enough for you to be drowsy and sweaty and frankly feeling pretty gross.   
  
Some trolls climb into the truck, wearing those fancy sun-resistant cloaks that's really hard to get a hold of, at least for you, and your sight is obscured by the mass of fabric and horns.   
  
You're still tied to the wall and your neck is still at a pretty awkward angle, a horn jammed into the corner of the truck so if you move your head, it presses into the wall, so you can't exactly headbutt any of them no matter how much you want to.   
  
You may let out some choice burns, but they don't pay attention to you.  
Soon enough, the leave again, and you only get a small glimpse of yellow and black before they slam the doors and you're thrown into the semi-darkness again.   
  
You do your best to listen, past the muffled noise outside, and you're pretty sure you can hear breathing.   
  
"Hey. Hey, buddy, you hear me?"  
  
There's no answer.   
Whoever this is, they must be passed the fuck out.   
  
The truck starts again, you jerk and your wrists throb from the ungentle treatment, and you're back on the road.  
  
After distracting yourself for an embarrassing while by trying to get a read on the animals you pass- and not succeeding, you're moving too fast- and making random noises, yelling at your captors, tapping a beat on the wall with your elbow, et cetera et cetera, there's finally a small noise from your roommate.   
  
You hear shifting and a weak cough, and you really hope this isn't a kid.   
You don't know how you'd handle it if there was a little kid in here with you, being taken to who knows where, and you couldn't even ruffle its hair or something.  
  
Thankfully, you hear the other troll eloquently mutter "what…?" and it sure doesn't sound like a young voice.   
Kind of old, really.  
  
"Hey, sunshine, welcome to the land of the living."  
  
The other troll doesn't give much of a response, only groans and looks towards you.   
With the very little light you have, you can only really see that the troll is probably somewhat shorter than you, has some sort of headgear going for them if the glint of some steel-like surface is anything to go by, and you think they may have their eyes closed.  
  
After a few beats the troll speaks, and you really can't pinpoint the age.  
It's not a particularly deep or wavery old voice, in fact it's kind of thin and high-pitched, but there's the kind of weariness and sigh in it that you'd hear in an old lowblood that's lived to see far too much.  
  
"Where is this?" he asks, and you give him a gold star for originality.  
  
"Don't know, doll. I mean, this right here is a truck, but I don't know where it is or where it's headed."  
  
You can hear clinks as he fidgets, probably testing out the chains like you'd done, and he says something you don't catch, starting with an S you think.  
  
"What was that?"  
  
You hardly get to finish your sentence before he's talking. His voice sure has gotten stronger, at least.  
  
"Did you bring someone with me?"   
  
There's more he wants to say, you can tell, but he bites back the words before they come out.   
You feel like you need to clarify some things first things first, though.  
  
"Hey, no, I didn't do anything. I'm just as tied up as you are, buddy, literally, I've got nothing to do with any of this."  
  
He seems to think this over, before tentatively speaking again.  
  
"…others? There were- there's two kids, and a short troll with small horns."  
  
You'd shake your head if you could, but it'd be very uncomfortable.  
  
"Sorry, I didn't see anything, I don't know."  
  
He sighs and falls quiet at that.   
Of course there had to be kids involved, you think bitterly.   
You don't want to test that particular subject much further, though, so instead you change it completely.  
  
"So, you got a name?"  
  
The stranger pauses for a second, then growls out "yeah, I do."  
  
There's an awkward silence for a few too many seconds, before you realize he's not actually planning on telling you.  
Man, he's going to be difficult, isn't he.   
Too bad for him, the boredom is suffocating you slowly and you're going to alleviate it.  
  
"You can call me the Summoner. Alternia's only winged flier, proud owner of the biggest rack known to trollkind-"  
  
The stranger snickers at you.  
  
If they weren't mangled, your wings would most definitely be flapping unappreciatively.   
  
"What?" you demand perhaps a little too defensively, and he quiets but you can still hear the amusement in his voice, the bastard.  
  
"You're locked up in a truck about to probably be used as lusii snack or something, and you're boasting about your rack? Do you have any idea how stupid that sounds?"  
  
"Oh I'm sorry," you scoff, "would you prefer it if I weep in the corner and lament my situation?"  
  
"Just being quiet would do fine."  
  
Wow, what a rude-ass.   
You're a fairly easygoing guy you'd like to think, but this guy's being unnecessarily prissy.   
You're stuck here together, aren't you, shouldn't you be on the same wavelength if only for that reason?  
  
Fine, screw him.   
  
You've been driving for a really long while, though.   
You wonder where you're going and what the purpose is, but the thinking makes you weary and the bump-and-shake of the truck grows from inconvenient to lulling.   
  
You probably fall asleep again, you're not even sure.   
Maybe you just nodded off for a few seconds, maybe you slept for hours, who knows?  
  
But when the truck skids to a halt you awaken, and you hear some bustling outside. You must be at your destination, whatever it is.   
There's this small knot of cold wires in the back of your stomach area, but you swallow on it and purposefully keep your expression totally chill when the double doors open and you're pulled outside.  
  
You don't need anyone to tell you that any attempts at escaping would end in your death, the higher bloods and array of weapons they carry, and the miscellaneous spots of suspicious rust here and there are a dead giveaway.   
  
The knot of wires unwinds, suddenly, so quickly your mind can hardly process it, and slithers under your skin, into your appendages and your throat and seize you up with fear so strong you choke on it.  
  
You stumble, and someone yanks on your horn to keep you upright but you don't even care, can't find it in your to be angry, you're too busy being rooted to the spot and pumped full of adrenaline that screams at you to run but also turns all your muscles to stone.   
You don't understand this, you haven't been this terrified since you were a little wriggler, and you don't know where it's coming from.  
The Highbloods are talking and you're going to get beaten if you don't stop being difficult but it's impossible, you can't move, can't do much of anything but keep your head lowered and your back raised and your wings tucked down as far as they go.  
  
"Just keep walking."  
  
You're not sure where that voice came from or why it talks weird, but something in it makes the wires soften a bit and you're able to comply with the guard pulling you forward before you're pummeled into the ground by the ones around you.  
  
Your mind is an overactive haze that sharpens everything to a point where it becomes unclear.   
Soon you're inside somewhere, you suppose, and you taste bile and acid in your throat and then it's gone, way too suddenly, and you reel and pant like you've been holding your breath all this time.  
  
You don't even struggle when you're being handled into position in some rank, stony room and your hands are wrenched upwards and clasped into cuffs.   
The ground is knocked from underneath you and you dangle with your hands pulled upwards by the chains, the strain hurts your shoulders but you can take it, and you're glad to just have a moment to gather yourself.  
  
You're in a cell, you realize, bound and cuffed and still shaking a little.   
You're also pretty damn embarrassed about that, what even was that, since when does _the Summoner_ freeze up in fear?  
  
You feel so silly and stupid that you don't even notice the other guy almost right in front of you until his own chains make a noise.  
  
You can at least take comfort in that he most likely didn't see you being all pathetic.   
There's some kind of massive helmet on his head, covering his eyes and everything, and now in the better light of the cell you can see that he's wearing some hideous body suit too.  
Wow, yeah, he's definitely got you in the lame compartment.   
  
"Do you know that you look ridiculous or is this some cruel and unusual punishment for you?"  
  
His head snaps up, though he probably can't even see anything with that weird gear on his head, and he totally ignores your well-grounded question.  
  
"You're still here?" he asks you, and something about the way he talks is off but you can't put your finger on it.  
  
"Sure am, buddy. Just you and me, here in this cell, all by ourselves. At least we have each other, right?"  
  
Helmet guy sighs and ignores your question again. You're getting really tired of that.  
  
"Where are we? Can you see anything?"  
  
You're sorely tempted to ignore that, just at get back at him, but that would be juvenile.   
Instead you respond with sarcasm and sass, like a good grownup troll.  
  
"Well, there's walls, and, more walls, and a ceiling and some chains and also walls. Did I mention we're in a cell? Because that's still the place we're in."  
  
"Oh great, thanks for that, I figured maybe you had seen something outside too but I guess you were too busy wetting yourself from chucklevoodoos," he all but snarls, and you figure he's talking about your stupid breakdown.   
You're appropriately abashed for all of one second, before you latch onto something more interesting.  
  
"Chuckle-what?"  
  
You're one hundred percent certain the stranger rolls his eyes, even if you can't see them.  
  
"Don't tell me you don't know what chucklevoodoos are. Where are you even from?"  
  
"Here and there, now what's a chucklevoodoo?"  
  
He sighs again, wow he just keeps sighing doesn't he, and explains to you.  
  
"Chucklevoodoos are these mind-game abilities some specific indigobloods use to scare lower bloods into submission, pretty intense stuff. It's why you froze up like a spotted hindbeast in headlights before. Can't believe you haven't been schooled on this, what are you, three?"  
  
As your mind processes this, you realize that you weren't actually being a huge cluckbeast, you were just getting your mind all twisted around by highbloods.   
Which is also bad, but it's some comfort to know that it wasn't your fault.  
  
You chuckle at your stupidity, and the stranger seems equally amused.   
  
"What, you thought you just got nauseously scared for no reason?"  
  
"Yes, I did actually, but I have an excuse now so that's that."  
  
"I'm pretty sure you were growling."  
  
"Highblood mind games, it's not my fault."  
  
"Wrigglers generally react that way, yeah, it's totally normal."  
  
"Shut up, helmethead."

You figure you could have worse company, if helmethead's awkward snicker is anything to go by.

**Author's Note:**

> This is total nonsense and it's stuck in my head and I'm posting it against my better judgement. I have chapters planned, but I don't know if I'll go through with them.  
> But real talk people need to consider this ship.


End file.
